White as us
by Nina28
Summary: Deep down he knows that is the end of the road


AN: Based on this fanart I made: . /tumblr_m1543wEtPh1qf7j96o1_

* * *

Deep down he knows that is the end of the road for him. He is tired, more tired than he ever remembers being; it's not just the lack of sleep, it's not even that bone crushing weariness hanging over him, like a shroud, all the time…

He can feel his soul being ripped to shreds, every single moment of every single day. It's Lucifer, talking non stop, teasing him, taunting him, reminding him of hell, making him taste it.

It's having survived the Apocalypse, having had Lucifer inside himself, on the wheel, remembering what it felt like to rip apart those demons, to taste their blood, to feel oddly - or maybe not - at peace.

It's being in that Cemetery, all over again and fighting his way back to the surface, grabbing Lucifer's grace and holding it tight before he'd kill Dean…and letting everything out: sound, images, smells…and _Dean_…in every breath, in every sound, in every moment…burning as deeply as Lucifer's grace, but brighter, whole…pure.

His whole life…the reason he is still moving, step after step, the last shred of sanity…or a madness so consuming, so seared into his soul that makes the rest pale, _almost_ disappear.

It's a cold morning and Sam is able to tune out Lucifer, for a second, as he sees Dean, talking on his phone, and for a moment - just one glorious moment - he almost feels normal again, it's a rush of blinding white and Dean, his brother, his _everything_, still standing despite all they've been through, still fighting, hanging on God knows what - _me, _a voice suggests, _we're both drowning, we're both going down…but together, the blind leading the blind, rock number one and the crazy guy still breathing… together- _

He remembers, suddenly, a morning, a similar landscape…and how young they had both been, the memory is so clear in his head, he remembers Dean, months before hell, when he still prayed, still had faith and hoped for miracles…and he feels like that morning, his heart almost aching, his breath catching in his throat, floored by the depth of what he feels, by the need to protect Dean…and as corny as it sounds to his own ears - and he's surprised Lucifer is m.i.a. at the moment, he's come to expect his commentary on his relationship with Dean - by how much he just…_loves_ his brother.

It's not like he wants to die, he doesn't want to leave Dean alone any more than he wants to have a splintered part of his soul gone crazy, like the single cell that starts a tumor, and conjure up images of Lucifer cutting Dean to shreds…

He just feels he's finally run out of luck; it doesn't matter, though, not in that moment. He looks at Dean, images of that morning of so long ago - it feels like they have both lived thousand lives, but in reality…how long ago it was? Just a few years?

He remembers Dean tilting his head up, under a pale sun, the reverb of the snow making everything almost unreal around them; he remembers how new it had been for him to be able to just look at Dean, without excuses, without pretenses, how he had still been able to taste Dean on his lips and how, for a moment, he had been sure he would save Dean from hell, because he just couldn't imagine the alternative.

He takes a deep breath, relishing for a moment the cold, taking in every detail of Dean. He's still the most real thing in his life, the only fixed point in a landscape made red with blood and fire by Lucifer.

He's exhausted…and still, he knows he'll keep going on, he'll keep fighting until the very last second…

In the meantime, just like that day, he can still feel Dean's taste and if he closes his eyes, he can pretend, despite the cold, that he's surrounded by the warmth of Dean's arms, the only tether he knows, the only respite when he loses his battle against sleep.

If he were still a man of faith, a praying man, he'd pray to spare him, but he doesn't bother. He just takes a few steps toward Dean, ignoring Lucifer, the red, the blood, the voices, the hell, focusing on the white landscape and Dean…his voice, his gruffness, the texture of his life filling, for a moment, the fractured spaces within himself.

He's taken aback by the depth of it all, like that morning of so long ago, when it was all new, when Dean and he had just become lovers…and then smiles a little smile as Dean talks: they're alive, together, for another day.

It is enough, he'll make it be enough.


End file.
